


Call Me Papi

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Car Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Sucre are in a car, on their way to cross the border, but the car breaks down and they've got time to kill. Michael loves that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Papi

“Fucking piece of shit car!”

Michael grinned. Sucre may not win a spelling bee, but he certainly knew how to express himself. “That bad?”

“Papi, this pile of junk ain't going half a mile further until we get a new piece of wire,” the Puerto Rican grumbled, then kicked one of the front wheels for good measure. He slammed the hood shut, breathing heavily through his nose.

“We'll have to start moving soon,” Michael said, shading his eyes and looking up at the sky. “But we'll have to wait. It's the hottest part of the day, and it's already a hundred degrees out here. Let's rest for an hour or so; we can head through the woods here later.”

The two men settled into the front seats, doors open, to wait. But Sucre soon remarked on the fact that the sun hit the front of the car much stronger than the back, and they clambered over the seats into the back seat.

“Reminds me of high school,” Sucre grinned, fanning himself with his sixpence cap. “I used to borrow my old man's car and take girls for a ride.”

Michael grinned. “Only girls?”

Sucre slapped him upside the head. “Of course only girls, you ass hole.”

“Why?” Michael asked, leaning back and closing his eyes. Sweat was rolling down his face; it was stiflingly hot, even with the doors open.

“Because I was a sixteen year old kid!” Sucre exclaimed, apparently offended. “I didn't know I liked guys, too.”

“But you do now,” Michael laughed, gleefully reminiscing about the day that he lost his self control and kissed Sucre and the Puerto Rican had kissed him back.

“I don't think so,” Sucre said, sounding contemplative. “I mean, I've never kissed another guy before you.”

“But you liked it,” Michael insisted, then sat up properly, turning towards Sucre, a vicious grin on his face. “At least, you liked it when I gave you that hand-job. And when I licked it off my fingers afterwards. Oh, and you definitely liked it when I jerked off in front of you until I had to give you another one because you were so hard.”

Sucre squirmed in his seat, trousers tightening. “Shut up, papi.”

“Why? It's already so damn hot; it wouldn't matter if we got just a little warmer...”

Sucre vainly tried to slap Michael's hand away as the engineer let long digits crawl slowly up his thigh. Michael was not deterred, however, and tried again.

“Papi, you know I don't... want to do this more than I have to,” Sucre whined, his thigh almost shivering under Michael's touch. “Maricruz...”

Michael still could not understand how Sucre justified their little escapades by limiting their numbers, but said nothing. The mocha skin of his former cell mate, glimpsed through an open shirt, sweat-glistening and smooth, was too much of a temptation.

“But just this once,” Michael said, soothing the other man's frown away with a playful lick to his throat. “We're stuck here, nothing to do, it's so hot... And you won't move very fast if this...” He palmed Sucre's stirring erection through his jeans, “persists.”

Sucre gave a guttural growl of agreement and gave in, letting Michael kiss his throat again before turning so he could kiss the fairer man full on the lips.

Their lips slid wetly together. Michael tasted the sweat on the other man's upper lip, Sucre's stubble grazing his own cheek so deliciously. He loved how Sucre was all man, even when he was acting like a puppy dog (which he frequently did; just as charming, just as confused, just as playful and easy to entertain).

“You, uh... you want to...”

“I want to blow you,” Michael smirked, pushing against Sucre with vigour. “Shift over, Fernando; I need space.”

Sucre groaned, pulling Michael to him for another kiss. “Seriously?”

“I love the taste of you when you come in my mouth,” Michael purred. Sucre moved until he was pressed against the passenger side wall of the car, panting heavily. Michael grabbed his thigh and lifted it over the back seat, spreading his former cellie open.

“Shit, Michael,”Sucre groaned, quickly opening the fly of his jeans. Michael could see the promising bulge covered by a pair of plain, blue boxer shorts. “You serious?”

“Mm,” Michael confirmed, then shifted to his knees in the seat, bent nearly double, and let his face hover inches away from the darker man's erection. “And in this heat, it's going to get even better.”

“How?” Sucre breathed, barely keeping himself from jerking off when Michael looked up at him through his lashes and smirked sexily. The engineer's lips were tantalizingly wet; their mixed saliva coating them with in tempting sheen.

“There's the taste of you, of course... The scent of your body...” Michael took Sucre's cock out of his shorts, one hand barely fastened around it, and licked his lips. “And you'll be so sweaty, and I'll get so hot from sucking you. I think I might need a little more than just a hand job today, Fernando.”

Sucre felt himself melt at the sound of his name pronounced like that. “More?”

Michael didn't bother with an answer; he started slowly jerking Sucre off, watching the veins pulse on his friend's cock as the strokes got harder and more insistent. “Like that?”

“You know I do, papi,” Sucre groaned, his leg straining against its elevated position. “Please, papi – Michael!”

“Call me papi, Fernando,” Michael insisted, stroking faster. “Say it.”

“Papi,” Sucre heartily agreed as Michael slowly let his lips sink down around the Puerto Rican's erection. “Papi, don't stop!”

Michael's hand was still closed around the base of Sucre's hard flesh, stroking what his mouth couldn't reach. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder. Sucre moaned.

But it was the tongue that was Sucre's undoing. When Michael's tongue began rapidly flicking hard against the underside of his cock, he cried out in pleasure, grabbing a hold of seats and the door frame and anything else he could reach. “Dios!”

Sucre came hard, the flicking driving him mad as it drew every drop of hot spunk from him, collecting every last drop.

Michael swallowed and Sucre's breath left him in a wavering sigh. His abdomen was twitching madly, the muscles contracting in little shocks of lingering pleasure and guilty desire. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to calm his hyperactive heartbeat.

Michael was smiling at him, lazily licking his lips. Sucre could see his jeans were tenting.

“Papi,” he rasped, throat dry. “You _liked_ that?”

“I _loved_ that,” Michael countered, dipping in to kiss Sucre's throat languidly. “Told you I like the taste of you.”

Sucre closed his eyes again, relishing in the feeling of Michael's lush mouth on his skin, and then the engineer drew back. “But like I said, Fernando... More.”

Sucre eyed Michael warily. “More?”

“I'm so hard right now, Fernando. And it's so hot in here. Won't you accompany me outside?” Michael grinned, then crawled out of the car and stood in the middle of the road, looking around. Finally he leaned on the hood. “Fernando?”

Sucre scrambled out of the car. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, voice still dry and raspy.

“I'm going to lie down right here,” Michael stated to no one in particular. He sat down at the edge of the hood, then let his body curve backwards until he was bent back over the hood in a most provoking posture. “Well?”

Sucre, still unsure of what the other man wanted, buckled up his own trousers and then moved to stand between Michael's slightly spread legs. “Um... this?” He pressed one palm against Michael's groin, rubbing slowly.

“No,” Michael said, although it was more of a moan than his actual voice.

Sucre rubbed his hips against the other man's, leaning on his hands to either side of Michael's waist. “This?”

“Yes!” Michael whimpered, and his groin bucked into the Puerto Rican's with desperation. “Sucre, I... please! Fuck...”

“Papi, I... I can't,” Sucre panted, the hot air cooperating with Michael's body in a joint effort to suffocate him. “Just... just came.”

“Not fuck me, you idiot,” Michael laughed, hands scrabbling on the hood as he pushed their hips together. “Just... fucking... do something!”

Sucre nodded, inarticulate with the feeling of Michael's cock through his jeans, rubbing against himself.

“Oh shit,” Michael whimpered again, feeling the pressure build in his groin. “Fer... Fernando! Say it, please, I need...”

Sucre's head spun. He could feel Michael pulse through the two pairs of jeans separating them. “Papi.”

Michael's hips were grinding wildly against his own.

“Papi.” This time, with more heat.

“Yes!” Michael cried, and Sucre could feel the heat explode between their hips.

“Papi.” One last time, with easy affection.

“Why do you do this, Fernando?”

Sucre looked down at the spent man lying back on the car's hood. He looked completely fuckalicious.

“Do what, papi?”

“Sex,” Michael said, smiling lazily up at the darker man. “You always say you shouldn't...”

“A man's got needs,” Sucre said quickly, then pushed himself off Michael and stood up. “Why do you always ask?”

“Just need to know I'm not making you uncomfortable, that's all,” Michael said, then got off the hood himself.

Sucre frowned. “Why?”

“Because I owe you,” Michael said easily. “And I don't want to ruin things with you and Maricruz. But Fernando...”

Sucre turned to face Michael, blushing at the other man's tone of voice. It was indecently smooth.

“... Don't expect me to stop before you tell me no. Especially not when there's car sex involved.”

Sucre swallowed nervously. Car sex. With Michael. He shouldn't; he really shouldn't. But the way Michael was looking at him, he knew he would. Again and again and again.


End file.
